


In Skirts

by shinkonokokoro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a tumblr fic.</p><p>Lord John Watson sometimes comes across strange things in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Skirts

 Lord John Watson rounded the corner and almost squeaked embarrassingly with surprise. “I beg your par—OH.” And found himself looking embarrassingly _up_ to see the face attached to the frills in close proximity to his face. “I'm terribly sorry.”

The woman tossed her midnight curls and snorted. “Out of the way!”

John frowned and nearly squeaked again and he was grabbed by a fine-boned hand and tucked into the alcove. She peered around the corner, looked at him, grinned and said, “You'll do. Help me.”

He immediately stepped back. “You need aid?”

She rolled her—oh  _very_ blue eyes and tapped a foot on the tiles before pushing him back into the alcove there. “I'm  _fine_ . I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, my lady.”

“Sherlock, is fine,” she drawled with a small quirk of her lips. “I need you to lay down and pretend to be injured.”

John frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, right here is fine.” She looked pointed at the ground.

“You mean now?”

“Yes.” And gave him a terrifying grin.

The woman—Sherlock, finally rolled her eyes, swept his feet out from under him and pushed him to the ground.

This time, John did shriek.

“Oh help!” she called, sounding the picture of worried damsel. “Someone please help! Over here!”

He coughed to get air back into his lungs.

“Please!”

Footsteps approached. He squeezed his eyes shut. Sherlock pinched his side and he yelped, turning it into a groan.

“He's fallen!”

The man prodded John briefly and then between the two of them, helped him to his feet.

“This way, my lady. I have medicinal supplies.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock purred.

John made sure to groan and mutter every now and then, sneaking a look at the lady's face. Long and handsome, high cheekbones. The highest of breeding. What on earth was she doing here in the quarters of the lesser lords?

She helped the mysterious man lay John down on a pallet.

“You saw him fall?”

“I did,” she simpered, hands flittering in front of her full skirts. “Will he be alright?”

The man gave her an oily smile. “I cannot tell yet, my lady. Did he trip or stumble? Or did he clutch his heart?”

“He stumbled. You are skilled with medicines?”

The man smiled.

Grunting as the man pushed at his throat, John cracked an eye. “I'm...fine...” he gasped, making a show of it. Over the oily man's shoulder, Sherlock's brows raised and a small pleased smile crossed her lips.

“My lord. Do you know where you are?”

“The Lord Chatham's palace.” He sat and made a show of rubbing his head.

“So, my lord,” Sherlock drawled, playing with some bottles on the workbench. “You know something of poisons?”

The oily man smiled falsely. “I do.”

“Then surely,” Sherlock said brightly, “you know something of Lord Metburne's murder?”

“Murder?” the man said casually. “I heard he died of natural causes.”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock said, toying with the bottles. “Natural causes like hemlock.”

John began to feel rather out of place. What on earth was going on here?

The man turned towards Sherlock. “My lady. Your imagination is quite fanciful.”

“Oh? I do hope I haven't imagined the evidence then...”

The man's smile turned into a snarl quickly.

John jumped off the pallet to protect.

But Sherlock was surprisingly quicker. She dodged the oily-man's attack and drew a knife from God-knows-where, slashing at the man. Who then dodged, bumping into John, who grabbed him from behind and wrestled him face first into the flagstones.

“Now what!” he demanded.

Sherlock looked down at them, the oily man's scrabbling lessening as John slowly choked the air from him. “Hold him there,” she ordered, voice dark and smooth. “Until he's unconscious.”

John let him drop where he was. “Who  _are_ you?” he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the knees of his hose.

She stood straight again, and the knife had vanished. “The Lady Sherlock Holmes. At your service.”

“At yo...” He frowned.

“The Lord John Watson, yes?”

“Oh. Yes. So sorry. Of course.” He shook his head to clear it. “Should we be binding him?”

“If you like.”

“Did he really kill Lord Metburne?”

“Yes.” She was fiddling with the bottles again. “I was impressed with your acting, Lord Watson.”

“Thank you,” he said with a wry smile. “Minor amusements. If we're to be so forward together, my Christian name is John, and I should like it if you were to call me that.”

“Very well, _John_ .”

“Do you gallivant around like this frequently? You are the Lord Holmes' younger sister, are you not?”

“I am. And I hardly  _gallivant_ . He was a murderer! I stopped him.”

“I have no problem...” he said cautiously, and was rewarded with a grin.

“Excellent. I could have uses for aid from one with your...talents.”

He eyed the strange woman and then gave her a mild bow. “Very well, my lady. I am at your disposal.”

“Brilliant! Come along, John! We have things to do!” With a final kick at the man on the floor, she swept from the room with a flutter of skirts.


End file.
